chasing immortality
by IWantYouInMyLife
Summary: "What am I but a king with no throne, an emperor with no people, a ruler with no land?"


**Author's Note: Heey, there. This is my first time writing from Thor's POV, so be nice to me, please? Anyway, here's a tiny story that's been sitting forgotten in my computer for literally forever. Enjoy.**

* * *

Landing on the roof of the Stark Tower — which Tony insisted was now called the Avengers HQ — felt weirdly like coming home. While it lacked the opulence and pure majesty of the palace back at As—no, he would not go there. It was different. The tall building was visible from afar even as he flew around, marking his departure spot and his returning place, and, as his feet touched the firm, concrete floor, Thor instantly breathed easier.

The landing in itself was far from its usual smooth, effortless rest of feet on the concrete. No. Thor's body slumped against the hard floor like a sack of potatoes, no coordination or direction. That he managed to make it that far was already more than one could have hoped for, given the circumstances. He was alive and in a safe place — for now, that would have to do.

The darkness was still there, lurking in the far depths of his mind, only waiting for a flinch — a moment of weakness — to step forward and swallow him whole, stealing his breath and paralyzing his entire body. It never went away. Thor could feel himself crushing under the weight of his failure — each time he managed to get back on his feet, a little part of his soul was left behind, alongside his fallen companions.

Not that he would have it any differently. No, of course not. He deserved every scar and every bruise.

As he laid there, cheek resting on the cold surface and arm covering his limited field of vision, he counted the seconds until one of his teammates burst through the door and saw his pathetic state. It was only a matter of time, after all. Thor could not have hidden his presence even if he wished to do it. Their bond already pulsed with proximity.

He counted.

_Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine._

And suddenly hands were gripping his body, pulling him up, taking his weight and dragging him inside the building. All while whispers of reassurement were being murmured into his ears — soft and warm. Thor closed his eye, resting for the time being.

He was safe there.

* * *

Thor woke up slowly, as though he was still fighting his way into consciousness. He tried to open his eye, but his lid weighted heavy and Thor could hardly manage a slit of light before it snapped closed once more. Giving up, he laid there, trying to hear the noises surrounding him. He knew he was not alone in the bedroom.

Why was he so tired?

The years seemed much too long now.

Thor was unsure when it began to feel like a weight — instead of a blessing — to be immortal. As a child, he remembered, knowing his life would span for long centuries had felt like the biggest of honors — to have the opportunity to explore the nine realms and all its different inhabitants... who would say no to such a privilege? And he had enjoyed it — perhaps more than he should have. He partied, drank, fought, cried, and loved among his people, secure in his certainty that he was untouchable and undefeatable.

Oh, how wrong had he been. How foolish.

Sheltered by his powers and wrapped around his parents' protection, Thor had relied on Asgard's rule over the other realms to wage countless purposeless wars — always leaving piles of the dead in his awakening. In hindsight, many did try to reason with him or, at the very least, direct his insatiable hunger for violence. Mostly, they were unsuccessful — their sensible words but white noise echoing around his young mind. One single voice had rung a tiny bit louder to him.

Loki.

It was instantaneous. The gaping hole in his soul burned, and ached, and bled, and itched — all at once. His brother. Loki. His death was intolerable, unimaginable. They grew up together, side by side, no matter the unforgiving trials ahead. Thor loved him. Loved him still and would carry on loving him forever, regardless of whether the feeling had been reciprocal in the past few years or not.

In many ways, he understood. He, too, felt betrayed by Frigga and Odin's lies — and still, he knew that his pain barely scratched the surface of Loki's devastation. It was too cruel. If one didn't know who he was, what could he possibly know?

And yet, Thor had failed. Failed his only brother, failed the boy who healed his battles wounds when Thor would let no one come close to him, failed the young man who lied to kings to cover his mistakes, failed the man who sat by his bedside for days on end when he fought against an ancient being and almost died of poisoning, failed the god who trained with him for weeks and weeks, without rest, when Mjölnir was placed in his unworthy hands, and Thor had been drunk on such power.

Thor failed the person he loved the most, and no regret would ever be enough.

* * *

When Thor finally opened his eye, braving the world around him, he saw his bondmates sitting around the room, sleeping in all sorts of uncomfortable-looking positions. It was impossible to watch them and not feel a tug of affection.

Bruce. Bruce's an oxymoron. On the one hand, he's a scientist, a man who worked to understand how the universe worked. Soft-spoken, calm, reasonable. On the other hand, he's also the Hulk, the mighty beast — who was actually so much more complex than a beast — that could remain undefeated for two years on such a hostile planet like Sakaar and still manage to help him escape from it. They were brothers of army, allies, friends. Everything. Before the bond — before Thor was connected to him in the most intimate way possible — he had still seen Bruce as a man who he wished by his side, whether in peace or at war.

Natasha's a warrior. Unlike Thor, however, her power couldn't be seen straight away. She wasn't obvious about her strengths. Natasha reminded him of Loki, actually, which was, perhaps, why her presence had felt comforting before any of the others had even truly registered in his brain. Sharp eyes, fluid moves, caution in the face of the unknown... all characteristics his brother had shown, but, most of all, they shared a barely hidden talent for political plays.

Steve — always protective of those he considered his. Somewhat like Thor, he had lost his people, his life, his world, and now clung to the few strands connecting him to the living land. They both had a deep understanding of what it meant to feel alone and how utterly horrifying it was, which prompted them to do whatever it took to be the front-liners, the ones lying on the wire. If there was a fight, he knew they would both jump in front of the others.

Clint. Well, Clint had a maturity that went beyond his few years. In Asgard terms, he would be not much more than a child, still young and foolish about the universe. As Loki made sure to point out as often as he could, however, Asgard wasn't — couldn't be — the standard to which all others had to measure up to. And he had been right about that, as he had been about so many other subjects. Clint had something that couldn't be obtained by practice or training: he cared. Cared far too deeply.

Lastly, there's Tony. Tony, who had started off as a mystery. On the television — outside of their tower — he behaved much like the partier Thor had once been: loud, popular, charismatic. In his space, though, he could be almost skittish — disappearing for days on end inside his lab, forgetting the world as he focused on his work, his inventions. Protective in his own way, he created all the armor for their team members, as well as their gadgets, managed their public relationships, and provided in general to any possible need they might have.

As Thor's eye landed on the empty space beside Tony, he felt a jolt of something cursing through his body, remembering him that there was still much to do. They had no idea where Thor had been.

It was time to wake them up; they had business to attend to.

* * *

Thor took the golden apples out of his satchel, placing them carefully over the glass table and sliding his glance over to his still-human teammates, pleading with his eyes.

"And this will make us immortal?" Clint asked, eyeing the fruits with a calculating stare — as if he was trying to gauge whether he believed it to be able to perform such feat.

"It should," Thor nodded, resting his hands over his knees in a fruitless attempt at keeping from fidgeting.

"But will it work properly on humans?" Natasha pressed, like always distrustful of the unknown.

"I do not know."

"And yet you want us to eat it?" She raised an eyebrow, daring him to agree.

"Yes," he did so without hesitation. It was selfish, he knew, she needn't have to point it out to him. But he wanted it, needed it — felt his throat closing at the mere thought of the refusal he could see building on her lips.

No, he would not accept to lose another person he cared for. Lo—. No, not again.

Tony broke the silence with his light tone, reaching for the apple closest to him in a swift move, before holding it in his hands and studying the best angle for a bite. "Seems reasonable to me."

Thor felt the anticipation rushing through his veins as he watched it getting closer to his mouth. Only to have it stamped when Steve reached forward to grab Tony's arm and stop it mid-air.

"Wait," he pleased in a desperate voice. "Just— wait."

"What are you—"

"Thor, just wait a second, alright? I know, okay? I know," Steve said, looking him in the eye and transmitting all his words couldn't say with emotion. His clear blue eyes were clouded with concern and anxiety, his flesh tight around his mouth. "But this is too much. Too fast."

Too fast? Had it honestly been too long since Thor lost his family, his people, his planet, his life?

"Steve, you're gonna break my arm," Tony interrupted, his voice calm and steady. He said it like a fact, rather than a problem.

"Shit," Steve cursed, instantly releasing the arm he had been holding. His eyes widened when the bruise with the shape of his hand remained a taint against the light skin. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Tony shrugged, unconcerned.

But Steve only shook his head, frustration rolling off of him in waves. He got up, leaving without another word, clenching and unclenching his hands, and the mix of emotion Thor felt flowing through their bond was enough to let him know that the soldier was one wrong word away from a bad decision.

Tony obviously felt the same, because he frowned, placing the unbitten apple back onto the table. "Let me talk to him, alright?" He asked, squeezing Thor's shoulder for a moment before turning and going after Steve.

* * *

Perhaps eavesdropping was not the polite manner in which his mother had taught him to behave, but Thor had ignored Frigga's advice for so long now, for much worse reasons, that it barely registered as a concern.

"It's my choice," Tony stated. "And I'm perfectly capable of making it, thank you very much."

"No one said you're not capable of making your choices, Tony," Steve said, pleading. "You know that's not what this is about — you know. You could—Natasha and Clint too—It's just far too much—"

It wasn't difficult to guess what the matter was. Even if Thor didn't have the bond connecting him to the others — and had their emotions swimming alongside his own inside his mind — it would still be clear what was causing tension among his comrades, his family.

"It's still my choice," Tony insisted, although his voice went softer. Thor could feel the exasperated fondness that he always associated with Tony and Steve's relationship coming from Tony's side of the bond. "I know you're worried, Steve. Come on. But it's unfair of you to be like this when you got your chance to choose in the past, and you also chose the risky option."

A sign later, Steve said, "Okay. When I made my choice, though, I was a broke, asthmatic kid who thought the serum was my ticket to a somewhat normal life — a chance to make a difference. I did not have that much to lose, Tony. This…"

"I'm an old man, Steve. Closer to forty than to thirty, you know. And with the way I drank and partied before my—before all this, well, I don't expect to live to see my sixty. I'm not ready to die; I don't want to."

"You're not dying. We have Cho and all this amazing technology available to us — to you. Don't do this because you feel pressured by the things you've done in the past," Steve tried to reason, and Thor's heart locked between one beat and the other as he waited for the engineer's answer.

"I can't change my past — it's done — but I can do this. You felt Thor, Steve. This is gonna work."

"I can still feel Thor's anxiety, Tony. Of course he wants this to work — I do too, okay? — which doesn't alter reality. He's Asgardian; you're not. We don't know the effect this apple will have on you. You're going for the worst-case scenario, but there are many possibilities in between immortal and dead."

Tony sighed. "I'm ready to take a chance. For me." There's a pause, followed by a burst of emotions coming from his end of the bond: excitement, determination, happiness, and most of all, love. "For us."

* * *

Thor wasn't surprised to find Bruce alone in the lab. He was, however, slightly surprised to see the man working, looking no more rattled than he always did, moving between microscopes and holographic screens with ease, a pair of gloves covering his hands.

When he entered the room, Tony's A.I didn't bother to announce him.

"Bruce," Thor called quietly, hesitating for a few long seconds. He wasn't sure whether his presence would be welcomed, even though Bruce's feelings were calm and settled.

Bruce raised his head, instantly taking the gloves off. "Hey," he greeted with a small smile. "Don't stand there, all awkward. Come here."

"I didn't think you'd be working." It was an admission, a question, a prod, all wrapped into one, breathed out in a cautious tone.

"I tend to focus on the things I can change," Bruce admitted, leaning back against his chair. "This… well, it's not up to me, is it?" His eyes narrowed, and his tone was heavy with insinuations.

Thor looked away. "I had to," he confessed before the question could even be uttered. "You're all still humans. Fragile, mortal. Even a super-human, a super-soldier, is still a human, Bruce." He swallowed, trying to convince himself that his throat was not, in fact, closing as the words came. "And in a few decades, well, I'll still be here."

Bruce raised his eyebrow. "Loki is dead."

Shock coursed through Thor's body like a bolt of lightning. "What?"

"I'm just saying. He thought he had forever in his grasps... it turns out, he didn't," Bruce said, reaching for Thor's forearm and dragging him closer. Thor allowed the movement, almost in a daze. "You shouldn't stop yourself from living what you want right now just cause maybe it will hurt in the future."

"Haven't I hurt enough?"

Bruce tilted his head to the side in consideration. "Haven't all of us?"

"How come I have lived for centuries, saw more of the universe than many have the right to, and yet it has been a group of humans who have taught me, over a few years, what it means to be myself?" Thor asked, amazed by the man's ability to bypass all of Thor's insecurities, almost as if they weren't there, and go straight to what mattered. Which was them - right there and then.

"It's a gift," Bruce joked, and yet he seemed more serious than ever, his eyes glistening with warmth. He squeezed Thor's arm, refusing to relinquish his hold. "Do you think they should eat those apples?" he asked softly.

"We share a bond," Thor said, coming even closer until he could lean his hip against the counter. "Tell me what you feel."

"Excitement, desperation, need... fear," he listed as he took off his glasses with his free hand. "The last one in what's making me hesitant."

"If I thought it would hurt them, I would never have risked. It's my honest belief that they will survive the change. My fear is not for them."

The confession burned on his mouth as he exposed his feelings, even though the bond allowed little privacy as it was.

"You can feel them as well, Thor. Do they feel hesitant to you?"

"Cautious of the unknown, perhaps. More than anything else."

"Give them time," Bruce asked, getting up from his chair to face Thor, his hand going up to touch his furrowed brow. "You'll get wrinkles, stop."

"I don't think so, not for a few centuries, at least," Thor argued, even as his muscles relaxed under Bruce's soft touch.

"Lucky bastard," the man cursed, but it lacked any true real heat. "Damn the skin of royalty."

"Royalty." Thor grimaced, the words much like a poke at his still bleeding wounds. "What am I but a king with no throne, an emperor with no people, a ruler with no land?" He questioned quietly, searching Bruce's eyes for answers the man couldn't hope to have.

"An Avenger," Bruce provided, leaning close enough to land a soft kiss to the corner of Thor's mouth. "One of us. Ours."

The words were tinged with the sort of possessiveness that hid an immensity of loss and fear, something that echoed in their bond constantly, being fed by each of their own particular brand of abandonment issues. Still, the way Bruce wrapped his mouth around the words, full of deeper meaning and sentiment, uncoiled something dark that had been wrapped around Thor's chest since his arrival on earth.

Thor had lost too much. Too many. Yet, despite the odds, he still had this, and if he had his way, he could have them forever by his side, and this time he would make sure they lived.

* * *

**AN2: So... that's it? I considered writing a future scene but never got around to actually doing it. So, yeah, for now, that's it. As always, comments are greatly appreciated and loved. Xoxo.**


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